


killing time (treading the same old wheel)

by meddowstaylor



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff, M/M, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Timers, fate hits them like a slap in the face, this is pure fluff what a change for me, two intelligent boys are a bit dramatic but sweet when it comes to love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 06:29:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20810606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meddowstaylor/pseuds/meddowstaylor
Summary: Roger Taylor and Brian May, two incredibly intelligent men who are too aware of the timers ticking away on their wrists, convinced they won’t meet their soulmate. Then there’s a drumming audition scheduled, an unbothered Tim too lazy to show up, and time running out - oh, and fate wanting to play with their minds.or the Smile era soulmate au no one asked for.





	killing time (treading the same old wheel)

**Author's Note:**

> this is the result of taking a trope and writing a story for two of my friends late at night months ago over text, and edited and posted with the encouragement of a third kind soul who read it over. I owe those three a lot, not just writing-wise. 
> 
> It’s introspective because dialogues seem to elude me, it’s tropey and it’s sweet. It’s two clueless smart guys not knowing that they are meant to be.
> 
> title taken from Roger's song "Killing Time"

Roger was an excellent math student. He heard all about it in school, with teachers commending him on his quick understanding of the material and noticing how he could get through the course and be doodling when most of his classmates were still struggling to with their first set of exercises. Later on, the same teachers would give him a disapproving look when the news in Cornwall traveled fast about the boy from the Taylor household keeping neighbors up with his relentless drumming in the garage. Yes, even if he would rather be keeping all his time occupied with music still now, Roger’s brain always had the ability to solve operations pretty fast. So if he wanted to, he could take a glance at someone’s timer, which for most people was just endless numbers, and get a pretty accurate estimate of what those seconds meant in terms of days, months, years. He had long given up on looking at his own, even if he found himself doing it sometimes absentmindedly during classes.

While Roger was used to seeing every young person in his home town proudly displaying the little tickers on their wrist, and he knew from his mom everyone stole glances to see when someone was going to meet their soulmate, he was pleasantly surprised to find out it was different in London, especially around university. A lot of British 60s youth refused to buy into a settled time frame to meet “the one”, and quite a few didn’t even believe in a lifetime partner anyways. Roger had always had a hard time coming to terms with the idea that he had to spend the rest of his life with one single person, and while he played it off as part of his flirting nature, the truth was he wasn’t sure it was in the cards for him. He had heard about those people - the ones whose timer went off and still didn’t find anyone. It was rare, but it could happen. 

The weeks leading up to his timer reaching its final seconds drove him off the wall. He had taken to using his wristbands even when he was not playing, and the familiar feeling in his hands was another bitter reminder of how much he missed music. It had been months since he was behind the drums, getting together with his old friends when he had driven back to visit during the summer. But the memories of the night were clouded by too much alcohol and a growing ache at seeing everybody paired up like Truro had suddenly become the British countryside version of Noah’s arc. There always was someone willing to find company for their loneliness, or even spend the night away from their so-called “life mate”. Roger would be there, ready and a bit dizzy, and he would smirk when the person he had gone home with would sneak out back to their soulmate. He would pity their doomed fate, their suffocating life together, and convince himself all he needed to get by was a fast car, a good assortment of instruments and the chilly wind in his face as he lit a cigarette. He had seen it up close when his parents had split up when his sister and him were young - sometimes it just didn’t work out, and it was better running free than bracing himself for the imminent crash down. 

Still, the time ticks away. 

He is back to his usual schedule, now settled on his new major. He wants to get by like is just another week, but his quick brain reminds him of how many days he has left by just catching the reflection of his right hand on the mirror while he is trying to comb through his hair. That’s the only reason he decides to show up at the drumming audition anyway. He needs to do something, to keep his mind occupied, and even if he promised his mom he wasn’t going to join another band, spending the afternoon hitting things sounded like the best alternative to being sulking and soulmate-less. He was also kind of trying to hide, even if it was a coward move. He didn’t want to be walking around, forced to be alone when the timer reached 0000, or in front of someone that Roger was going to feel nothing towards. Maybe his lifelong suspicions were going to be confirmed and he would find out that drumming was his actual soulmate. 

Now, Brian begged Tim to change the time of the audition. 

But as usual, he hadn’t listened. Or he didn’t care. 

Brian could also tell in an instant the moment someone’s timer was going to go off. His classmates had even made a game out of it, daring him to take a look around people in a group and proclaim when their fateful time would come. Brian played along, but the truth was that the whole subject made him feel extremely uneasy. 

Lately, when he had hit his teen years, he had joined the group of people that wore bracelets or long sleeves over his own ticker - he had put too much expectation on it since he was a kid, and his days would be useless if he was constantly staring at his timer. His scientific brain told him there had to be a logical explanation behind how soulmates were determined, and an even sounder reason for the time it took to meet that certain someone. But his more idealistic side, his daydreaming, volatile angle - the same that made him favor his guitar playing to his formal education - urged him to believe there were deeper connections involved. Almost like magic. But listening to that starry-eyed part of his mind had meant many sleepless nights and heartbreak. 

Lately, he had been resenting the whole soulmate bond, maybe because even if he was hyper-aware of the day it would happen, he still looked around for that certain someone. He wasn’t expecting an instant connection, so there was a chance he could speed things up a bit and get to know someone beforehand. 

At this point he operated like he had a Swiss clock ticking inside of him- it had been almost useless to cover his timer as he still felt the seconds slipping away. But between band obligations, rehearsals, and his university obligations, Brian had lost track of time. As ironic as that sounded. A week ago, when their drummer had quit and Tim had suggested they looked for a “Ginger Baker type” new guy, Brian’s mind was totally in another place. His gloomy disposition seemed to be worse than ever, already feeling the twisting pain in his chest when he realized his time was running out. 

He often pictured his soulmate story as his parents’ one - they had met, gone to a few platonic dates where they realized they shared common interests, and then their timer had emitted a soft noise and bonded them for life. He was too rational to believe in the intense strike of lighting that some people experienced, and he knew those were the couples that often didn’t make it. For as much as his romantic side wanted to tell him otherwise, Brian had trouble believing there was a certain someone out there who would love him the moment they saw him. He trusted a slower pace where him and that particular someone could get to know each other, securing them a stronger connection. Because he knew even soulmates sometimes didn’t have what it took to lead a life together, and Brian was certain he wouldn’t be able to bear it. He had dreamt of this person since he was little, imagined them as a soft-spoken, gentle, calm companion. Someone that would share most of his passions and enrich his days, finally allowing him to take a step back and relax. Maybe even take his mind off music, allow him to lead the life his dad so desperately wanted for him and that everyone told him would suit Brian better. 

Not exactly the kind of person you meet at a drumming audition. And that is what he is yelling at Tim about from the payphone two blocks away from Imperial College. 

There is no time to reschedule, and even facing the most important moment in his life, Brian can’t bear standing up the only clueless guy that had responded to their ad.

So basically, Brian says “screw it”. For a moment it registers that he could be talking on the phone with Tim of all people when his ticker goes off and any scenario seems more appealing than that. The wanker of his bandmate isn’t even going to show up, squashing Brian’s plans of hanging at the library or near the lab to wait around, and maybe hopefully have a greater chance of meeting a similar-minded person. He curses Tim one more time and hangs up, grabbing his guitar and almost sprinting to the room they had booked, his heartbeat matching the quick pace of the countdown on his wrist. 

Roger is set up behind his drums - or rather, his newly bought bongos and the kit the band had supplied - tapping away and trying to adjust the sound. A meaningless action, since whoever told him to be here hadn’t shown up. Perfect. His damn timer was going to go off on some old dusty classroom in the middle of the afternoon and he would be, as he always feared, alone. He feels a lump in his throat and his eyes beginning to sting, and he focuses once again on the sounds he can conjure with his hands. He hates this bloody system. “Is it supposed to make you feel better?”, he thinks bitterly, biting his lips in a familiar manner that always keeps the tears at bay. Even if he manages to not cry, the knowledge that from now on anytime someone saw his timer on zero and they would register he was still with none makes him twist his face, and he tries to control his breathing that is now on an uneven rhythm. They would know, everyone around him. They would know that even fate had a good laugh when it came to Roger Taylor’s life

He closes his eyes and tries to think of anything else. To focus on the music, the only thing he can count on. His only way of expressing everything he has to say, the only way he has of feeling a connection to something beyond himself. His hands have a life of its own and keep melodically bouncing from place to place with his sticks firmly gripped. He knows the seconds are going by like sand in a fist, and he is unable to stop them. 

As Brian approaches the room, an enchanting sound gets louder and louder. He tries to catch the rhythm of it, but this isn't a song. There is a pattern there but he can’t pinpoint it either. The pace reminds him of his own diligence when he is tuning the Red Special. He gets nearer and nearer, the magical music getting louder, and Brian is so fascinated with the precision he is listening to that he forgets about his timer. As rare as it is, Brian May manages to get lost in the moment. He doesn’t even think of knocking or of peaking through the door - instead, he clashes into the room, guitar still on his back and probably sweaty from running there. 

When he locks eyes with the man sitting on the back of the room, his posture hunched over the low drums, Brian doesn’t feel the earth shake or a beam of sunshine coming through the sky, or anything like that. It isn’t like he had dreamt it. There isn’t anything extraordinary about the moment, rather the opposite: it feels natural, a given. It feels inevitable. 

Roger hears the door opening and he instantly stops the tuning of his drums. Or he thinks he does. Honestly he is in no control of his hands, his legs, his fucking head. He is startled by the sudden noise and it takes him less than a second to register the man in front of him, looking like he had run a fucking marathon and still so beautiful. Roger scans his face for any recognition, tries to place him somehow because he seems so …. familiar. Like he knows him. Like that skinny, tall, curly-haired dude has been a part of his life since the beginning of times. 

Then his mind catches up to him. His usually quick brain is the last part of him to register what is happening, his heart miles ahead. 

“You’re late”, Roger smiles, because he can’t contain his lips stretching like that. He isn’t sure he is ever going to be able to stop grinning. 

Brian returns his smile and before he opens his mouth to speak, a soft “beep” fills the room, the sound drowning out the words he was trying to say.

“I think I’m just on time” he replies, his eyes getting teary just like Roger’s.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! I'm still not sure how this came out, so if you want to, leave me comments or come say hi and send me your dentist bill over the slight sweetness at tumblr/meddows-taylor


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